


How the Matchmaker Met Her Match

by katmarajade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blind Date, Dating, F/M, First Time, Humor, Matchmaking, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 05:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5697493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katmarajade/pseuds/katmarajade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George did <i>not</i> sign up for a matchmaking service, but Lavender Brown has never let minor details like that stop her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How the Matchmaker Met Her Match

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luvscharlie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvscharlie/gifts).



> Written for luvscharlie for smutty_claus 2015. Many thanks to three dear friends. nightfalltwen gave me the brilliant idea for this plot, and gelsey was a stalwart cheerleader and keen beta. Without thimble_kiss and her infinite patience, this never would have been completed, and her wise observations have made it a much better story. 
> 
> (Bonus points to those who catch the three Doctor Who references!)

George Weasley's first clue that his life was about to be turned spectacularly on its head came tied to the leg of a pompous-looking owl. He should have known by the scented, lilac-coloured stationery that something was amiss but, as usual, curiosity got the best of him. He opened the frilly letter, the sparkling hearts along the edge of the envelope reminding him of something Gilderoy Lockhart would have used. 

The letter was not from Lockhart. It was a notice from someone or something called Love by Lavender informing him that he had been scheduled for a date on Friday evening. 

Rolling his eyes, he binned the notice. Obviously, they were either having trouble with their owls delivering to the wrong address or it was some sort of scam. Either way, George didn't have time to deal with it. He had a business to run, products to create, and an entire staff to supervise (and prank as necessary—he found it was good for morale). He forgot all about it until the next Saturday morning …

♥

Lavender Brown had zero patience for customers wasting her time. An incomparable matchmaker, her services were in high demand. So when she went through all the work of taking on a new client only to have him rudely stand up another valuable client, she was most displeased. Especially when it meant having to listen to a sobbing mess of a girl have a break down in the middle of her office. 

She made her living finding and delivering true love to poor, unfortunate souls. Sometimes it took longer than others, but she had a wall of cheesy wedding photos proclaiming her talent. (Literally; some of the pictures had been Portrait Charmed and were rather chatty.) So when one of her long-time customers stumbled through her door in hysterics, sobbing about how she'd been stood up and would never find love and yadda yadda yadda, well, Lavender was justifiably pissed off. She personally vetted her clients and meticulously orchestrated the matches, and this callous disregard for her selfless efforts was a slap in the face. 

Granted, Morag was a little melodramatic even by Lavender's standards, and there had been several times where she'd really wanted to tell the woman to get a bloody grip and, for Merlin's sake, buy some waterproof mascara! (Honestly, she'd never get a man with those raccoon eyes. Lavender might be good but she wasn't a miracle worker.) But _no one_ stood up a Lavender appointed date, and _no one_ got to hurt one of her clients! It was rude and mean, and she couldn't stand men who went around breaking hearts. Also, frankly, it was bad for business. 

With that in mind, Lavender finished her coffee and checked to make sure that her perfectly tailored scarlet suit looked as smart as ever. It did, of course, because she was ace at Ironing Charms, which kept her clothing looking professionally pressed all day long. It also helped that her best friend Parvati was a fashion designer who made amazing clothes just for her that flattered Lavender's blazing hot curves and showed off her incredible bum. She strongly believed in making the most of one's assets. 

It took nearly ten minutes of badgering the tough-as-nails-but-not-nearly-as-tough-as-Lavender girl working the front counter at Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes before George appeared from the back room, looking as disgruntled as Lavender felt.

"What in Merlin's name is the problem, Verity?" he asked, his fake smile in place. Lavender scoffed—he'd never get very far in business with customer service like _this_. 

"George Weasley," she said sharply, and she was pleased at the immediate effect her stern voice and her general hotness had on him. " _You_ are on my naughty list. Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's not nice to keep a woman waiting?"

Offering his most charming grin, he gave her a lazy scan from her designer shoes to her artistically arranged dark blonde curls before answering smoothly, "I would have been out sooner if I'd known _you_ were here."

She narrowed her eyes at him, refusing to be swayed by a roguish smile. "I gave you explicit instructions about where you needed to be last night and when, and yet for some reason you weren't there."

George frowned. "Oh, that."

"Yes, _that_ ," she snapped, giving him a contemptuous sneer. "Are you illiterate?"

"What?"

"Are you unable to read?" she reiterated in a very slow, condescending voice. 

"I know what it means! And no! Of course I'm not illiterate."

"Well, you never finished school. I wouldn't want to assume," she said breezily, giving him a small smile and waving her fingers in the air. Then her sweet expression vanished, and she unleashed the full power of her most potent glare. "Then you have no excuse for leaving poor Morag sitting all alone in that restaurant. I would never have thought I would see such ungentlemanly behaviour from you, George Weasley! I am ashamed of you!" 

"Hey! I am a perfect gentleman." He made a slight face and amended, "Well, most of the time." 

"And yet you stood up that poor woman."

"Who are you talking about?" he demanded.

"Your date," she said, looking at him like he was the biggest, scummiest idiot she'd ever encountered. 

"I didn't have a date last night," he said firmly.

"Yes, you did. I set you two up myself, and I know you got the notice." 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," George maintained stubbornly, and Lavender itched to abandon her poised professionalism and smack him across his stupid face. How could someone so clever be so clueless? Did he think that she was such an amateur that she wouldn't use delivery confirmation for her business owls?

Honestly, she was a bit disappointed. She had expected more from one of the famed Weasley twins. So _clever_ , so _witty_ , so _funny_ , they said. Sure, there had been some entertaining shenanigans in the Gryffindor common room during their school days, but he had obviously peaked early and was already on a slow, pathetic decline into common, brainless oaf-dom. It seemed it was her lot in life to be disappointed by hot but heartless gingers. Perhaps they were her Achilles Heel. She'd always heard that everyone had one great weakness, and now, after so many years of fruitless searching, she had finally discovered hers. 

"I'll put this very simply so you can't possibly misunderstand. You hurt one of my clients, which is a surefire way to piss me off. She has now left my agency, which means I've lost a valuable source of income, so I'm doubly angry. Therefore, I would like suitably groveling apologies both to me and poor, innocent Morag and assurances that next time you will be punctual, polite, and perfectly charming. Well, as charming as is possible for an overgrown child who plays with toys all day. But with this whole poorly dressed Peter Pan thing you've got going on, I imagine you're good at playing make believe."

"Oy! This robe is custom made!"

"That really, really doesn't help your case." Lavender gave his garish magenta and neon green ensemble a lingering once-over and wrinkled her nose. 

"You can't just set random people up and expect them to take your ridiculous notices seriously!" George exclaimed. 

"Of course I can. I'm a professional matchmaker, you freckly twit. That is _exactly_ what I do, and my services are anything but ridiculous!"

"A professional matchmaker?"

"Love by Lavender!"

♥

Lavender. Lavender Brown! George blinked in shock, unable to reconcile the gorgeous, curvy, elegant woman in front of him with the knobbly-kneed, frizzy-haired girl he remembered from school. That girl had worn so much blue eye shadow that she looked like she'd been popped by one of their punching telescopes and gone on to date his idiot little brother before the scruffy git had wised up and started snogging Hermione. (To her credit, Won Won was a _far_ more hilarious nickname than anything he'd ever been able to dream up!) As far as he could recall, he hadn't seen her since he and Fred had made their dramatic farewell to Hogwarts. Now here she was all grown up … and snapping her fingers in his face.

"Oy!" he shouted, batting her shiny red death claws away from his eyes. Suddenly aware that they were standing in the middle of the shop and their interaction was drawing a crowd, George put up his hands in mock surrender. "Look, Lavender, could we take this to the back room?"

"No, I don't think so. I think that all of your customers should be aware of how you left that poor woman sitting alone for hours on a Friday night. I mean, what kind of cruel, insensitive, horrible person would …"

"I'm sorry! This has obviously been a huge misunderstanding!" George said loudly for his patrons' benefit. A number of protesting kids were being ushered out by their parents, who were giving him strange, judgmental looks. With great difficulty, George bit down his natural inclination and let her win, no matter how completely fuck-nutter _wrong_ she clearly was.

"You win," he hissed, only getting out the words with great difficulty. Sometimes being a responsible, business-owning grown up was _hard_. "I have no idea what in Merlin's name is going on, but if you will kindly shut your mouth and stop yelling at me in the middle of my shop and scaring away my customers, I will show up to whatever ridiculous sham of a blind date that you want."

"My matches are never ridiculous!" she declared loftily, but her voice had quieted to a normal volume. All traces of her hollering harpy-like personality now hidden away and a charming, professional smile firmly in place, she suddenly looked as sweet as a bar of Honeydukes' finest. It was disconcerting. "You really missed out last night, but I will come up with an even better match for you this week. Be on the look out for your notice. I use lavender stationery so you can't miss it!"

With that, she breezed out of the shop, leaving a wide-eyed Verity trying not to laugh and a baffled George wondering what the actual fuck had just happened. 

That Friday night, George sat down at a reserved table for two at a quiet, little Italian restaurant in Hogsmeade. Pulling at his fluorescent orange bow tie, he watched the door with great trepidation. He still wasn't quite sure if it was his too-strong sense of Gryffindor honour that had brought him here tonight or if he was secretly a little scared that Lavender might show up again and start screaming. 

Nearly an hour later and two pints in, a tiny woman with a shocking cascade of golden blond hair entered the restaurant like she thought she was bloody royalty. Handing her deep green cloak to the bemused maître d', she sashayed over to George's table, teetering precariously on her stiletto heels. She paused by the chair across from him, gave him a very unimpressed once over, and huffed in annoyance. 

"Well, are you going to pull out my chair for me or not? Honestly, haven't you any manners?"

Biting his tongue, George rose and pulled out her chair, allowing her to sink gracefully into place before pushing the chair back in perhaps just a touch too roughly. 

"Well, there's no question which family you belong to, is there?" she asked, eyeing him with a touch of contempt. "I swear the list of eligible, pure-blood bachelors is appallingly small these days." She let out a long-suffering sigh. "But I suppose the whole war hero status counts for something, even if you are poor as dirt."

George stood up, his chair making a loud, scraping sound that attracted curious stares. "Well, this has been fun," he said, not caring one bit how heavily the sarcasm dripped from his words. "Obviously there was a bit of a mix up, as I requested a woman who was punctual and a lot more creative with her insults. Thanks so much for the drinks, because yanno-- _dirt_." He shrugged his shoulders, gave her a faux embarrassed look, grabbed his jacket, and stalked off, making sure she got a good view of his 200 Galleon dragon-hide boots and tailor-made suit. 

Bright and early the next morning, he stormed into Lavender's office, ready to give her a piece of his mind.

"Well, George Weasley, what a pleasant surprise," she said, looking up from her paperwork. She lifted one perfect eyebrow and took a sip of coffee out of a shockingly pink mug with glitter hearts on it. 

"What kind of crap matchmaking service is this? That was the biggest joke of a blind date I've ever been on."

"So you actually showed up this time," she said, folding her hands in front of her and giving him a piercing look that would have made McGonagall proud. He felt a little indignant at how shocked she sounded; he _had_ promised!

"Of course I showed up—early, might I add, unlike my snotty, scrawny, insult of a date."

"Oh, was she late?" 

"She was an _hour_ late, acted like a jerk to the maître d', and was wearing ridiculous heels that she could barely walk in."

Lavender winced at that. Then she rose from behind her desk and walked purposefully toward him. 

George glanced down and saw that her heels were even higher than his date's had been, but they didn't look remotely ridiculous on her. Somehow, she moved around gracefully, the added height making her shapely legs appear even longer and her amazing, ample arse impossibly more appealing. He swallowed hard.

"That's a pity," she said. "Every self-respecting witch should know how to perform a good heel-stabilising spell." 

Flustered, George tried to remain on point and not stare at the way Lavender's snug, grey skirt clung to the generous curve of her hips. "And she insulted me!"

"Was it because you were wearing a really hideous tie? I thought that might be a problem."

"What? No! I mean, my tie was brilliant!"

"Good brilliant or oh-dear-Merlin-it-hurts-to-look-directly-at-it brilliant?" George didn't answer. "After your nasty behaviour last week, I certainly wasn't going to match you up with anyone who couldn't handle it. Greengrass might have been furious if you hadn't shown, but she wouldn't have been hurt. Besides, it was a long shot, but she requested a pure-blood match, and however distasteful I find that sort of nonsense, I am a professional, and I aim to please."

"Well, next time you should please _me_!" George said, realising what he'd said only after she gave him the sexiest, dirtiest smirk he'd ever seen. The taunting twist of her perfectly painted pink lips made his cock stand at attention. 

"I'll do my very best," she said in a smug, silky voice that made his chest feel oddly tight and his face flush. "So, that means you've agreed to a next time."

"Wait!" George tried to backpedal, but Lavender simply talked right over him. 

"No, no, this is great. I have a much better option for you, I promise."

"But …"

"Now, now. I am quite busy, so perhaps you'd best get back to work. Keep Friday night open. I promise I'll find you someone with ugly, sensible shoes."

"That's not …" 

"Bye now!" Somehow George found himself pushed out the door and standing on the pavement. Damn that Lavender Brown and her distracting legs and annoying non-logic! He debated storming back inside and finishing the argument but he realised he was surprisingly all right with her winning this round. 

He suddenly found himself looking forward to his next set up. It would inevitably be awful, but it would give him an excuse to see Lavender again. She might be pushy, annoying, and a terrible matchmaker, but she was quick with a clever retort and had an arse that wouldn't quit, two of George's favourite qualities in a woman. Let her have a battle or two—George would win the war. The matchmaker had met her match.

The next Saturday morning he barged into her office again.

"That woman was older than my mother!"

"She wasn't _that_ old. Besides, I promised you a woman with sensible shoes who wouldn't insult you," Lavender said, taking a sip of coffee, amused brown eyes sparkling at him from behind the garish, glittering pink rim. 

"That's because all she did was talk about her five hundred cats!"

"You don't like cats? What kind of horrible person are you?"

George suddenly found himself assuring her that he did, in fact, like cats and found them lovely, clever animals. (He did not mention that they made him sneeze, and he was secretly convinced that most felines would kill him in his sleep if given the opportunity.)

Lavender was uncharacteristically silent while he babbled, though he was sure that she was still smirking at him behind that abomination of a coffee cup. How had she managed to turn this around on him? A strategic retreat was in order—it was obviously the only way to save his dignity. 

"I expected more from you, Brown," he said in his gravest voice. "I hope you can do better next time." Head held high, he walked out the door. He swore he heard her laugh as it swung shut behind him. 

♥

"That was a waste of my time!" 

Lavender seemed unsurprised at his dramatic entrance. She simply smiled and handed him a cup of coffee before gesturing at him to continue. He glanced at the purple mug with its silly little pink stars surrounding an arching rainbow with fluffy clouds on either end. 

"I did not understand a single word that came out of that woman's mouth!"

"Too clever for you, huh? I guess I overestimated your intelligence."

"Oy! That's not what I meant. I'll have you know that I'm fantastically clever! I might not have got all hot and bothered over textbooks, but I'm bloody brilliant, and I'm an innovator and an entrepreneur and … she was _boring_! " George knew he was whinging but couldn't help it. How did this woman keep turning his righteous indignation around on him? He should have the high ground but somehow she managed to make him feel like a complete idiot all the time. It was unprecedented! It was maddening! It was also inexplicably attractive. 

"I'll find you someone nice and stupid next time, shall I?" 

"I'll show you stupid," George muttered. As soon as he heard the words come out of his mouth, he cringed. He really had to improve his game. He was slipping!

Sure enough, Lavender shot him an amused, smug look that made him want to scream in frustration. He settled for a long-suffering huff and allowed himself a moment (just one!) to appreciate the curve of her mauve-coloured lips and how her impossibly high heels showed off her gorgeously rounded calf muscles. 

♥ 

"She laughed at _everything_ ," George groaned, giving Lavender a look that he hoped conveyed his deep pain and suffering. 

"Well, when you walk around wearing colours like that, is it any wonder?"

"Your jealousy is understandable, Brown, but don't hate me just because you can't pull off magenta!"

"Well, I was under impression that you considered yourself quite humorous. I mean, I consider that an adorably generous assessment of your often pitiful puns, but I do aim to please. Would you prefer someone who didn't laugh at your jokes? Because, honestly, that would make my job a lot easier."

"Woah, woah, woah! Hold on! My sense of humour is ace, and I have an entire joke shop proving that my 'pitiful puns' sell—and make me damn good money! Everyone thinks I'm funny!"

Lavender made a face. "Not everyone, love."

George left in an extra grumpy mood that day.

♥ 

"Okay, Brown—what the actual hell was that all about? That doe-eyed little girl was barely out of Hogwarts! I felt like a pervy old man."

"Yeah, I bet those wrinkles around your eyes don't help, huh?"

George made an unintelligible garbling sound. "She told me she wanted to have my babies! I think she actually wanted to go start making them as soon as we finished our dinner."

"Not interested in sex? Well, that's a game changer. Are you not up to it?" She waved a hand meaningfully in front of his trousers. "Or just not very good?"

Lavender sipped coffee from her disgustingly sparkly mug, studied her perfect pink nail varnish, and effectively ignored his indignant and passionate defence of his manhood. The entire situation was rather emasculating, and he thought he might have actually started questioning himself too if she hadn't bent over to straighten an arrangement of flowers, her snug, grey skirt hugging every glorious inch of her wide, curving hips and round, gorgeous arse. No, things were definitely functioning just fine, he thought. He shifted awkwardly, trying to mask the aching bulge in his tight, green trousers. Next time he'd stick with robes. 

Taking a deep breath, he thought desperately of Madam Pince pole dancing to frustratingly little effect, and he decided to try a new tactic. 

"What exactly was it about Little Miss Knock-Me-Up that made you think, 'gee, she'd be perfect for George'? Because, I have to say, I'm less than impressed with your matchmaking skills as of yet."

"My results are unparalleled! You just can't decide what you want. It's not my fault -- I've given you everything you asked for."

"Everything that I asked for? What the hell does that even mean?"

"It means exactly that. You told me what you wanted in a woman, and I provided you with perfectly suited matches."

"Bollocks! The only thing I told you I wanted was for you to stop shouting at me in front of all my customers. Sorry to burst your bubble, but that was not an exhaustive list of my deepest, personal desires."

"Of course not! I was talking about the four hundred question report you filled out detailing exactly what you're looking for in a woman."

"Wait—what? I most certainly did fill out anything of the sort!" Four hundred questions? What in Merlin's name was she asking people?

"Then how do you explain this?" She pulled a thick stack of parchment and thrust it in his face. 

George's indignation with Lavender was diverted as soon as he saw his name scrawled on top of the forms in a very familiar looping scrawl.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, feeling a surge of rage at a new target. He was going to _kill_ her! Skimming through the questionnaire, he groaned at some of the answers. "Look, for fuck's sake, I did not fill this out—my mother did!"

"I was going to mock you for that girly handwriting, but I suppose I'll let it slide in that case."

"You do realise that means these answers are total crap."

"Nonsense. Your name is George Weasley, is it not? You are thirty-one years old and still woefully single, yes?"

"Well, sure, _that_ sort of stuff is true. I don't know about _woefully_ though. Perhaps _happily_ would be more accurate."

Lavender just laughed. "Oh, you poor, clueless little boy."

"I am older than you!" George said. "And obviously much wiser!"

"I was trying to be kind and not point out your advanced age," she responded with a wave of her hand. "The point is, if you were truly _happily_ single, you never would have agreed to go out on eight blind dates."

"I was just trying to get you out of my shop! You were scaring away my customers!"

"If your customers were scared away, that was obviously because they were appalled by your horrendous manners, standing that poor girl up like that!"

"You can't stand someone up if you never knew you were supposed to be meeting the person in the first place!"

"That's just your guilty conscience speaking."

"My conscience is as pure and clean as tiny, white, virgin kittens!"

"That's just disturbing. I'm adding interested in creepy animal sex to your profile."

"You do that. It's not like you could find _worse_ candidates."

"This job is incredibly difficult, you know. I work hard trying to find perfect pairings for my clients."

George let out a snort, but then, with a sudden burst of inspiration, he gave her his best grin, the one that made those who knew him well immediately start worrying. "I'll make you a deal. You let me set _you_ up on a date. If it goes horribly, then I will go on one more awful dates of your choosing. However, if it goes well—and it will—then you need to burn that bloody questionnaire that my mum filled out, let me out of this ridiculous deal, and promise never to make a scene in my shop again."

♥ 

With narrowed eyes, Lavender considered his offer for several moments. Something had just shifted. She didn't know what exactly, but all her instincts were screaming "trap!" In the end, her curiosity trumped her wariness. She stretched out her hand. "All right then." 

"Next Friday night. Watch for my owl. It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Ms Brown." With that, George tipped his imaginary hat in her direction, gave her a devilish smile, and made a dramatic exit. For once, Lavender let him have the last word. 

♥ 

Despite Parvati's assurances that the dress was _perfect_ for her and her full length mirror's assurances her that her bum, artfully wrapped in raspberry-coloured jersey, looked better than ever, Lavender seriously considered tearing it off and climbing back into her most comfortable pyjama bottoms—the pink ones with the smiling cupcakes—and her bunny slippers. Though she made her living setting up other people, it had been a long time since she'd gone on a date herself. It wasn't that she was nervous, she told herself. The fluttering in her tummy was most likely because she'd worked through lunch again and was saving room so she could splurge on dessert tonight. 

On Monday, she had received a ridiculous questionnaire from George with choices like Super Sexy or Toad-like Troll, Breathtakingly Brilliant or Brainless, and Exceptionally Witty or Dull as a Drunken Garden Gnome. Sure that no good could come from answering, she'd ignored it. Another letter arrived on Thursday, telling her that despite her complete lack of assistance, he'd selected a fantastic bloke whom he was positive was perfect for her. He went on to say that the usual money-back guarantee was void due to failure to complete the survey in a timely manner, but that the previously agreed upon terms, which he'd attached to the letter in triplicate, still applied. Lavender had rolled her eyes, made herself an extremely strong Margarita, and called Parvati, who was annoyingly chipper about Lavender's upcoming battle of wills masquerading as a blind date. 

It was best to stay on guard and not to get her hopes up, as this was a George Weasley scheme. She was fully expecting him to have a huge, flashy punch line planned for the evening, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her back out. Straightening her shoulders, which were draped in sheer, shimmering black fabric that drifted dreamily along her ribcage, highlighting her gorgeous breasts and hourglass shape, she put the finishing touches on her lip colour. She fully intended to use _all_ assets at her disposal, and that definitely included looking as hot as possible. With a small huff of satisfaction, she dropped the lipstick into her clutch and Disapparated. 

Escorted by a bored-looking maître d', Lavender pasted on her most confident smile and gave her hips some extra sway as they approached the secluded table for two. 

♥

Though many thought of him as impulsive, George liked to be prepared. People never appreciated just how much preparation went into a good prank or developing his Wheezes. He enjoyed the build up as much as the final product, and he applied that to his personal life as well. When he'd decided to trick Lavender into going on a date with him, he'd made sure to do his homework. 

As one might expect from a fellow Gryffindor, he'd determined that goading her into it would be his best bet. That part had gone off without a hitch. He'd known she couldn't back down if he presented it as a dare of sorts. 

Bolstered by her acceptance, however grudging, he had spent the entire week investigating one Lavender Brown. She was 29 years old, an only child from Leadworth, and now lived in Muggle flat a short distance from the Leaky Cauldron's entrance to Diagon Alley with two very spoilt cats and a bunny. Her favourite colour was pink (no surprise there), and she enjoyed crocheting (but was absolute pants at it) and tawdry romance novels (her favourite featured sexy vampires who sparkled—amazing the ridiculous things Muggles came up with!). 

All week he'd spent getting everything ready for Friday night. After much research, he'd decided upon Sanguina Steak House, which was on a quiet little street just off Diagon Alley. Not only did it have crème brulee—her favourite—but it also, due to a diverse clientele and its popularity with London's considerable Goblin crowd, had a serving staff who wouldn't bat an eye if she ordered her steak on the cold side of rare. She was apparently very self-conscious about that. He'd even arranged for a bottle of her favourite kind of wine to be chilled and waiting for them. 

With the rest of his limited free time, he'd ignored his workbench full of Wheezes in progress to develop a better allergy pill. If all went well and she brought him back to her place, he had to be ready. Even his fit form and high level of sexiness couldn't save him if his eyes and nose got all red and runny and disgusting, which always happened when he was around cats. 

Though he loved his dragon hide boots and strongly believed that bowties were cool, for tonight he'd traded them in for shiny wingtips and a jumper. He'd gone searching for the Merino jumper that Bill and Fleur had given him last Christmas. At the time, he'd shoved it in the back of his closet, thinking it hopelessly plain. However, after finally trying it on, he had to admit that the periwinkle colour wasn't as boring as he'd originally thought, and it looked pretty damn good on him and brought out the blue of his eyes. 

He looked over their table one last time, knowing that she'd be arriving any moment. Though she loved to make an entrance, his sources claimed that her idea of fashionably late was more like two minutes early. An expensive German Riesling sat chilling in an elegant bucket, and George was fully prepared to drink the stuff, though he'd almost choked from the cloying sweetness when the sommelier had offered him a taste. He ran his tongue over his teeth, making sure nothing had got stuck in there since his meticulous brushing an hour earlier and took a deep, steadying breath. This nervousness thing was new and foreign to him, and he couldn't decide if he liked the bubbling sensation that was twisting and fizzing inside him. 

He heard the rhythmic, staccato click of high heels and turned to face his date. She paused in front of the table, her mouth falling open for a moment before twisting into a snarl.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she demanded. 

Desperate to save the situation, he winked and grinned, putting all the charm he could muster into both expressions. Then he gave a dramatic little bow. "May I introduce your amazing date for the evening— me!"

"What the hell is going on, Weasley?"

"When you didn't respond to my official questionnaire, I had to make an educated guess. So I chose you a date who was sexy, brilliant, _and_ witty. I thought long and hard, but I could only come up with one person who perfectly fit every category." 

"You?" 

George felt his smile fade at her reaction, which was considerably less enthusiastic than expected. From the look on her face, you would think that he'd tried to set her up with Filch.

"Is this one of your stupid jokes, George Weasley? Because I am not laughing, and I am certainly not going to stick around to find out!"

He floundered. Underneath all the barbs and sass and sarcasm, he'd really thought she liked him. Their regular Saturday morning bickering was the highlight of his week, and it had been a while since he'd gone out with any of those witches for any reason other than an excuse to throw their complete incompatibility back in Lavender's face. The dates had been almost comically wrong for him, and he'd started to believe she was doing it on purpose, that she didn't want him to find anyone, that—maybe, just maybe—part of her wanted him for herself. Perhaps he'd been wrong. Perhaps she wasn't playing the same game as he was at all. 

"But … what about our deal?" he finally asked. 

Lavender harrumphed, and George's eyes widened as she pulled the questionnaire his mum had filled out, thinking her tiny clutch bag must be bigger on the inside to have fit that entire sheaf of parchment. "I don't renege on my deals. Unlike some people, I have honour and self-respect!" 

While he watched in shocked amazement, Lavender lit the pile of paper on fire and waved it in front of his face until the flames caught hold. Then, with spectacular flair that only a showman like George could truly appreciate, she flung it into the wine bucket on the table, spun around on one towering heel, and stormed out of the restaurant, her perfect hips swinging sharply as she went. 

George swallowed hard. That had not gone as well as he might have hoped. He stared at the ruined Riesling. (At least he'd gone for the mid-range bottle instead of the 80 Galleon vintage he'd originally been considering.) Lavender Brown would never make anything easy; she would scream and she'd fight and she was obviously not above setting things ablaze to prove a point. Was it really worth it? 

Yes. Yes, it was. 

He'd always been one to fan the flames. 

♥ 

As soon as she arrived back at her flat, Lavender screamed in frustration. Fury and humiliation warred inside her, and she could not decide whether to hurl dishes at the wall or sob into a pint of ice cream. On second thought, no sobbing! Just because she was a romantic and secretly longed for a fairy tale confession of true love and happily ever after didn't mean that she wasn't also a strong, tough, modern woman, and she certainly would not let some nasty, ginger jester destroy what was left of her dignity. 

She'd only got as far as tossing her purse on the table and debating whether this situation called for rocky road or double chocolate chip, when there was a loud pounding at her door. Peering through the peephole, she saw a very dishevelled George running his hand through his now very untidy hair. 

She took a deep breath and threw open the door. "I am not one of your punchlines," she declared in her most dramatic tone, a little glad that she was getting the opportunity to use this much-better line that had only come to her after she'd left the restaurant. 

George didn't wait for an invitation and pushed right past her, striding in boldly then pausing awkwardly in the foyer. She suddenly felt very defensive of her little flat, and jerked up her chin defiantly, waiting for him to make some crack about her poorly knitted pink afghan with the slightly demonic looking kittens on it. For once in his life, however, George said nothing. 

Regina, the older of her two cats, sauntered in and rubbed up against George's leg. He sneezed violently, and Lavender tensed, ready to leap to Regina's rescue if he pulled a wand on her poor, defenceless kitty, but he just shoved his hand in his pocket, pulled out a shockingly pink tablet, and swallowed it. His mouth started to open again in that wobbly, about-to-sneeze way but after a moment he closed it with a tiny, satisfied quirk of his lips. 

"Allergy pill," he said offhandedly. "Invented it myself! Much better than the current market alternatives."

"You invented an allergy pill? What kind of joke is that good for?"

"Er, the joke that is watery eyes and sneezing? You do realise that I actually use my brilliance for things other than pranks and Wheezes sometimes, don't you?"

She simply let out an unconvinced snort and crossed her arms over her chest. She stubbornly maintained that posture even when the filmy overlay of her fancy new dress started to make her arms itch. 

George took a long, shaky breath, squared his shoulders, and gave her a piercing look that did distinctly uncomfortable things to her tummy. She wanted to hate him. He was ridiculous and dressed like a thrice-damned clown and made terrible puns. He was _nothing_ like the nice, well-dressed, romantic man that Lavender dreamed of, and she refused to let him see that he'd got under her skin—even if it was just the teensiest tiniest bit. 

"Lavender," he started, his fingers grabbing nervously at his hair, an annoyingly adorable gesture. "I'm not joking. None of this was a prank. It was just … I _like_ you." 

Stunned, Lavender stared at him suspiciously, wondering at the serious expression that had overtaken his usually laughing face. With an air of vulnerability that she never would have believed possible from George Weasley, he continued.

"I think you were right about there being a reason I kept going on those dates you set up for me. I think maybe I am a little lonely. I just …" He screwed up his face and she caught a flash of something new, something different, something broken. "It's been a long time since I've had anyone in my life, since I've even wanted anyone in my life. I've never even had a real relationship before. The closest thing I've had was with Fred—oy, shut your pervy face, Brown. I'm trying to have a serious moment here!—and when he was gone, I just … getting close to anyone seemed pointless.

"But I think I miss having someone who really sees me, someone close enough to let my guard down once in a while. You don't take shite from anyone. You are the only person in the past decade who's actually called me out when I acted like a total arse, and that was … well, it's fucking brilliant, really. I'm surrounded by people who pity me and coddle me, who worry that if they say the wrong thing that I'll shatter. And the rest?"

George let out a derisive snort. "The rest couldn't keep up with me if they tried. I'm so used to pulling punches. Then I met you, and you got the best of me multiple times before I realised that I didn't have to hold back. When I'm with you, I can be George—the whole wild, crazy, slightly screwed-up, big-mouthed, brilliant mess that I really am. And I haven't felt like I could be that person with anyone since Fred died.

"You're tough. You can take anything I throw at you and throw it right back. You're quick. You can match me insult for insult and more than keep up your end of a witty repartee. That, combined with your arse, which is hands down the most amazing I've ever seen, makes me think that maybe you're the perfect woman."

"I am pretty perfect," Lavender said, trying for her usual sass, but her voice cracked slightly. 

She could not believe this was actually happening. There was a gorgeous (not that she'd tell him that) man standing in her flat giving a beautiful, heartfelt, passionate speech. One part of her was swooning, spinning with glee and excitement, desperate to rip off that yummy jumper and spend all night discovering every adorable freckle. 

The other part, the cynical adult part, was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. This was George Weasley, a man who was known throughout the wizarding world for never taking anything seriously, who turned everything into a joke. He said she could take anything, and she had worked hard to cultivate that image. She was always perfectly put together, all polish and poise; she was a tough bitch who fought fiercely for what she thought was right. That didn't mean that she couldn't get hurt.

Could she trust him? Should she? 

All she could find as she studied George's face was sincerity and hope, which was a bit disconcerting on him. She bit her lip, still unsure how to respond, and he seemed to take that as an encouragement.

"The thing is, I think you actually _like_ having someone to argue with and that you enjoy our verbal sparring as much as I do. I think you like me showing up at your office every week, and I think that you have purposely been setting me up with witches you _know_ are completely wrong for me because you want me to keep coming around, and maybe even because you want me for yourself."

"Don't be ridiculous!" she snapped, but the blush staining her cheeks gave her away. George grinned triumphantly, his usual charm and swagger returning in full force. 

"You fancy me! You think I'm gorgeous and brilliant and sexy, all of which is completely true!" He took a step closer, and Lavender forced herself to stand her ground, still wibbling over whether she should run away screaming from the very idea of this or drop all pretences and snog that cheeky smile right off his cute face.

Oh, for fuck's sake! Maybe he'd wind up breaking her heart someday, but right now he was standing in front of her, telling her he fancied her, and it was bloody well _the_ most romantic thing that had ever happened in her entire life. This was a moment better than anything in her trusted romance novels, and she was not about to let it slip away.

In three quick steps she crashed her mouth into his and poured all her pent-up passion and fiery fervour into one glorious kiss. Their tongues warred, and from the first touch, it already felt familiar, like this was simply a natural continuation of their constant bickering. He tasted sweet like sugar, and she melted into him, almost purring into his mouth when his hands swept over the curve of her hips and down to cup her arse. 

He finally pulled away just long enough to give her a sexy smirk. She responded in kind, but before her lips could fully form the expression, he'd pressed her against the wall, pinning her there. She allowed him to pull one thigh up over his hipbone, and she didn't even care that her dress was getting wrinkled and stretched. All she could focus on was the feeling of his nimble fingers grazing over the exposed skin of her upper thigh, tracing tickling patterns and gently kneading her flesh. 

"Nothing neon," she remarked as she pulled at the soft fabric of his jumper and yanked it over his head. He paused his ministrations long enough to grin at her. 

"Thought you'd appreciate that."

"I do! You actually look normal. I didn't think that was possible."

"Normal is highly overrated. And don't get any ideas—the neon's not gone anywhere. I just let it have the night off."

"We'll see. One thing at a time," Lavender said, cutting off his retort with another kiss and sliding one hand down to palm the bulge in his trousers, squeezing lightly and grinning into the kiss as she felt more than heard his growl of approval. She fumbled with his belt and buttons and shoved down his trousers, allowing him just enough time to kick them off before twisting him around and switching their positions. 

Enjoying the hot, heavy, glazed look in his darkening blue eyes, she hummed with pleasure and shifted her hips, lifting her leg back up around his waist and aligning the dampening lace of her knickers with the thin layer of cotton still covering his erection. She locked eyes with him and slowly, teasingly circled her elevated hip, rubbing herself up and down the entire length of him, smirking when his eyelids kept fluttering shut each time she reached the top. She felt the hard heat of him sliding against every inch of her slit, and her slow, rhythmic figure eight movements intensified. She pressed harder as her wetness slickened the delicate slip of lace that separated her from the thick cock now peeking out of George's pants, desperately seeking her heat. 

She whimpered as the frantic friction pushed her up and over the edge, and her nails dug into his arms as she came, continuing to move against him until she'd extracted every ounce of pleasure from her orgasm. She finally stilled and gave him a sated grin, raising one eyebrow expectantly. 

George took the hint and faster than she would have believed possible he had pushed them away from the wall and towards the sofa. Despite the forceful movement, he was surprisingly gentle and careful not to let her trip on her dangerously high heels as he backed her into the sofa. 

He captured her lips in a fierce kiss before he unzipped her dress and tore it off of her, throwing it out of sight. It was a testament to how turned on she was that Lavender didn't bat an eye at the treatment of her designer dress. She smiled as she stood before him in only black lace lingerie and three inch heels. With a teasing sway of her hips, she reached up and unsnapped her bra, flinging it carelessly away, and spread her legs slightly. His eyes narrowed and he let out a raspy sound of approval as he traced his fingers across the tops of her breasts, traversing the generous roundness of each until he was cupping one in each hand, marvelling at the silky weight of them. He gave them one last gentle bounce and then flipped her over so her hips draped over the low, rounded back of the sofa. 

She would never have thought it could work but with her high heels on, it was the perfect height. She arched her back, pushing her bum up invitingly, and glanced back at him. He took her provocative pose as the go ahead it was intended to be, and she let out a little gasp as she felt him push inside. He began a slow, steady pace, and Lavender squirmed beneath him, the upholstery scratching at her breasts as she shifted, trying to achieve the best possible angle so he'd hit _that_ spot. She almost whined with pleasure when he did, and he took the hint, moving harder and faster, bringing her higher and higher. Just when she thought she might scream from frustration, he twisted his fingers up under her just enough to toy with her clit, and she was there, her inner walls convulsing around him. His fingers dug into her hips as his pace grew frenetic, and before Lavender had even finished coming down from her own orgasm, he was there with her, groaning as he came. 

As his breathing quieted, so did his fingers, which now traced lazy trails on her cooling skin. She sighed contentedly and wriggled against him. Though comfortable enough in the moment, the upholstery was starting to chafe her nipples and her thighs ached where they'd been pressed into the frame. Worth it though, she thought as she pulled herself up. 

George backed away to let her up but pulled her close once she was steady on her feet, kissing her long and slow. 

"That was fun," he said. "Want to do it again?"

"Like right now?" 

"No, not _now_. But soon."

"Good, because while that was lovely, there is no way I could go another round without having something to eat first. I haven't had supper yet."

"Yeah, well, that happens when you storm out before starters."

Lavender levelled him with a withering stare, and much to her annoyance, he simply smiled. 

"C'mon, love," he said brightly, wrapping his warm arms around her. "Let's get you into something nice and cosy. You're obviously freezing. Then for our first course we can have that pint of rocky road that I know you've got tucked in your freezer."

She gave a long-suffering sigh but allowed him to lead her back to her bedroom, pull the high heels from her suddenly aching feet, and wrap her pink dressing gown around her. It was perhaps the sweetest, most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her, but it certainly wouldn't do to admit that out loud. 

It was important to keep him on his toes.


End file.
